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“Murdered?” Emilie could barely repeat the heinous word. How could she think after Steele had uttered such a horrific statement?
Camillo Garcia murdered?
Steele waited for Emilie to take a seat behind her desk. Then he pulled the pen and tiny notebook from his jacket pocket, just as he had the day before. “As I was saying, the coroner suspected, as did I, that your employee’s death involved foul play. There will be a complete autopsy performed today, which should give us more insight. As you can imagine, I have more questions.”
“Of course.” She sucked in a breath, trying to hold back her emotions. With a trembling hand, she wiped her moist eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all so unbelievable….”
Detective Steele pulled his chair closer to her desk. “I understand this is difficult, Miss Gill. And it really could be as simple as Mr. Garcia having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You said yourself that there are a lot of stable break-ins in the area.”
She shook her head. “But nothing was taken.”
“True. But I can’t rule it out. A thief could have gotten caught, panicked, killed Mr. Garcia and run…. Now, Miss Gill, how late were you at the stable Saturday evening?”
She cleared her throat. “Until nine. But I didn’t go into the old barn. I’d been there early that morning when I found the note. I didn’t go back.”
Steele jotted notes in his little book. He paused and looked up. “And was anyone else around, say between six and when you left?”
She shook her head. “No. Not that late on a Saturday night.”
“Are you usually here that late?”
“No. Not usually. I normally leave at six. But I had a special trainer coming Sunday morning and without Camillo I had to prepare everything myself. Plus I’d given the stable hands the weekend off, since it’s a holiday, so I brought the horses in and fed them myself. Anyway, the whole time I kept thinking…well, hoping that Camillo would come back….” Her voice broke off with the strain of emotion.
“And you saw nothing unusual while you were here? No cars or trucks? No workers?”
“No. Like I said, everyone was away. As far as I know, no one was here but me.”
He scribbled more notes in his pad. “The estate entrance has an iron gate with a keypad entry system. Is it closed at night?”
“Yes. It closes at eight and is only accessible with a code or by calling the main house. That’s what time the stable is officially closed and what time the house staff leaves. It opens again at six in the morning. But some employees know the code.”
“Which ones?”
“Camillo knew it. Rosa Billings, the housekeeper. Mr. Huss, the grounds manager. And my dad’s lawyer, Mr. Adams.”
“Was it common for Mr. Garcia to go out in the evenings?”
“Not that I know of,” Emilie said.
He nodded. “Did Mr. Garcia have many friends outside the stable?”
She shrugged. “He had a few, but his job didn’t really allow for an active social life. He worked long, hard hours and he was very dedicated. I was lucky to have him. He was great at his job. In fact, I know for certain that a couple of other barns tried to woo him away.”
The detective leaned forward. “Do you know which barns approached him?”
“I suspect some of my competitors. Perhaps, Jack Frahm or Leslie Raney.”
“Did Mr. Garcia consider these other positions?”
“I don’t know why he would have. He wouldn’t have been paid any better, that’s for sure.”
His brow creased upward, showing his small gray eyes. “Did you pay Mr. Garcia extra money in addition to his salary to ensure his position here?”
She blinked rapidly. “No. I didn’t need to. His salary was more than sufficient. That’s what I was trying to say.”
“So, you’re denying that you gave Mr. Garcia large sums of cash on a monthly basis?”
She half laughed at the question. “Of course, I’m denying it. It’s not true.”
“Then you can’t explain why Mr. Garcia made cash deposits every month totaling as much as five thousand dollars in addition to his check from Cedar Oaks Stable?”
“What? Camillo made cash deposits?” She shook her head from side to side. “That can’t be true. He worked for me all the time. There’s no way he had time to moonlight for cash.”
“Uh-huh.” The detective scratched his head and rubbed his broad nose. He glanced down to read something in his notebook then looked back at her. “Is there any chance Mr. Garcia was into something illegal, like drugs or gambling? The ME found a trace of drugs in his system. And it appears that his wrists had been bound for hours before death.”
She felt her eyes widen. “No way. The only drugs Camillo touched were the joint supplements we feed to some of the older horses each morning. He didn’t even drink. And I can’t imagine he would have gambled. He sent most of his money to his family in Mexico.”
“That’s what he told you?”
“Yes. That’s what he told me because it’s the truth.” Emilie frowned.
“What about enemies?” he asked. “Did Mr. Garcia have any problems getting along with the boarders or other workers here?”
“Never. Everyone loved him. Especially his riding students…” She looked up quickly. “You know, he did make some extra money riding horses for boarders and teaching lessons. Maybe that’s where the extra cash came from?”
“That money is recorded since he took personal checks for that work. In fact, Garcia kept meticulous records, which is why the unaccounted five thousand in cash each month really sticks out.”
Emilie twisted her lips. “Well, I have no idea.”
“Yesterday, you stated that you and Mr. Garcia were very good friends.” He checked his notes again. “How about elaborating?”
“Elaborating?” Emilie raised an eyebrow.
He gave a curt nod.
She shrugged. “Uh…we worked together all day, every day and we were friends. Sometimes we had meals together and we would chat.” She stood, walked to the coffeepot and poured herself a full mug. “Would you like some coffee, Detective Steele?”
“No, thank you.”
Emilie found her seat again and took a sip of the hot brew. The detective fell silent, staring at the collection of awards and photos on her walls.
“Look, Detective Steele, I don’t have much time outside my life here at the barn and all the shows I do. Neither did Camillo. It’s not surprising that over the four years he worked here we became friends.” She tightened her hands around the warm mug and lifted it again to her lips.
His face pinched and his eyes rolled up at the ceiling. “Yes, I get that, Miss Gill. What I’m asking is were you intimate?”
Emilie choked on her intake of coffee and struggled not to spill the mug as she placed it on the desktop. “No. Goodness no. Camillo was handsome and very sweet, but I never felt like that about him. Really, if you’d seen us together, you’d realize how ridiculous the idea is.”
“When I questioned your stable boy Gabe, he didn’t seem to think it ridiculous at all. In fact, he said and I quote, ‘They were a thing. They were together all the time.’” Detective Steele returned his pad and pencil to his jacket pocket and placed his hands on his knees.
Emilie gave him an angry stare. “Gabe cleans stalls and fills water buckets. That doesn’t exactly make him an authority on relationships.”
“No, it doesn’t.” He looked at her and frowned. “But I could see how being who you are, if you had a liaison with your own groom, you’d want to keep it a secret. But don’t think it will stay that way. If it’s the truth, it will come out in this investigation. For certain, Mr. Garcia was involved with a woman. I’ve looked through his apartment and there is ample evidence of that. If not you then someone else. I’ll need to talk with this person. If you were such a good friend, perhaps you know her?”
Emilie thought of the letter she’d found in the Bible. Could that have been to a woman? Possibly. But wouldn’t she have known if Camillo had had a girlfriend? “Mr. Steele, I promise I had no idea that Camillo was involved with someone or if he even was. In fact, I find it hard to believe. It couldn’t have been serious.”
He looked at her with a suspicious eye. And she realized her words had sounded like those of a jealous lover.
“Miss Gill, someone killed your friend. And my job is to find and reveal that person, no matter who it is.” He stood and placed some papers on her desk. “Those are warrants to search your facility. And I’ll need a list of all your boarders and staff. Camillo’s friends, too.”
“Sure,” she said. “Whatever I can do.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect you to be so compliant.” He walked to the doorway, stopped and looked back at her with a smirk. “Your father has taught you well.”
“What? To cooperate with the police?” She frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Believe me, Miss Gill, not everyone at the top of my suspect list is quite so agreeable.”
Emilie’s eyes went from the warrants to Detective Steele’s face. “You’re kidding. How could I be a suspect?”
“You had means and motive, and you were here alone. How could you not be?” He turned and left her office.
FOUR
Derrick swept into Emilie’s office at full speed and came to a screeching halt before her desk. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Emilie lifted her head and pulled the hair back from her face. She wondered how red and puffy her eyes must have been. “Of course I’m okay. How’d you get here so fast? I thought you had an appointment.” The natural timbre of her voice surprised her. She’d been anything but calm when speaking to her father and his lawyer about the disturbing conversation with Mr. Steele.
“I took care of my appointment with some phone calls. You didn’t sound so great on the phone. I thought I should come straight here.”
He’d been worried? Emilie wiggled uncomfortably in her seat and looked away. “Oh…I’m sorry. It was a bit confusing when you called, but I’m fine…uh…help yourself to some coffee.”
Derrick frowned as he made his way around the desk to the coffeemaker and helped himself.
“It might be strong,” she warned him. Two hours had passed since her conversation with Steele. Her father was on his way back home to look into things. Mr. Adams had promised to put in a call to the D.A. Still, Steele’s accusatory statement continued to rattle her already fragile nerves.
He sat across the desk from her and sipped the strong coffee in silence. Emilie studied the sharp, angular line of his clean-shaven jaw. Her stomach quivered as he caught her eyes. His brows came together slowly.
“So, I was right,” he said. “Something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”
“No.” She shook her head but realized it was futile to try and conceal the truth. “Okay. Yes.” She sighed. “The police came back this morning to investigate further. And there’s going to be an autopsy.”
“An autopsy?” Derrick sat up straight and focused on her, tilting his head slightly. “Why? I thought the beams fell from the rafters and killed him.”
“I guess they’re not sure.” She tried to look him in the eye, but she couldn’t bear the intensity of his gaze. She shifted her focus to the floor. “Let me take you to your apartment. I’m sure you have things to unpack.”
Derrick pressed his lips together and placed the coffee cup on the edge of her desk. “That’s it? That’s all they told you?”
Emilie felt nauseous. She didn’t want to talk about her conversation with Detective Steele. She didn’t want to think about the fact that someone might have killed Camillo. That she was a suspect. “No. That’s not all…. Camillo had been tied up and they are saying he had taken drugs…” She tried to swallow. “But—I—I can’t really—”
“He was tied up? So they think he was murdered?” His question sounded out in an incredulous tone.
She nodded. A rush of tears spilled from her eyes.
“Oh. Hey. Hey. I’m sorry, Emilie.” He stood and dusted his palms up and down the legs of his pants. “Really. I’m sorry. Of course, you don’t want to talk about it. You must be exhausted. I…uh…I should get to work.”
Emilie nodded again, trying to get her voice to function. “Gabe is here doing stalls and turnout. He can show you my tack. I wrote a workout program for you….” She searched her desk for the list she’d made. But through the wall of tears, she couldn’t find it. The more she searched, the more she confused the pages on her desk into a large mess.
Derrick placed his strong hands over hers, stopping them as they fumbled back and forth. “You need to go home. Get some rest. I can manage. Trust me.”
“No. I—I can’t. I have to—”
“Emilie, your friend just died. Go home,” he repeated, releasing her hands. “I’ll call you if I have a question.”
“I can’t. I have to call Mr. Winslow and reschedule. Actually, I need to reschedule the whole week. And we’re low on sweet feed. And I need to exercise—”
“I can do those things. All of them.” He walked behind her desk and rolled her chair back. “You’re so tired you can barely speak. Go home. Rest. I’ll drive you there.”
She looked into his steely eyes. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Rest here then.” He swung her chair toward the couch.
She stumbled the three feet to the sofa. “Okay. I’ll lie down. But I won’t be able to sleep.”
He grabbed a throw, tossed it at her and then walked to the door.
She pulled the blanket to her chest. “You’ll call Mr. Winslow?”
He looked back and nodded.
“And exercise my Grand Prix horses without getting yourself killed?” She wiped her cheeks.
“I used to ride bulls.” He gave her a half smile. “I think I can handle your ponies.”
“They’re not ponies. They’re—they’re finely tuned athletes.”
“I’ll be good to them. Rest.” The door clicked as he pulled it tight.
Emilie closed her eyes and listened to the fading click of his boots against the concrete as he strode away. Lying back, her sobs ceased but she couldn’t stop Steele’s questions from filling her mind.
Had Camillo been in love? Was that why he’d left? Did that relationship have something to do with his death? Obviously, the detective thought it was important. Emilie looked at Camillo’s photo on the wall.
You had a secret, she thought as sleep began to still her heavy heart. Did it get you killed?
Derrick found Gabe and cleared permission to ride Emilie’s horses with the police. He exercised Chelsea, Duchess and Bugs—three of Emilie’s four show jumpers, spectacular animals, bending and relaxing under the guidance of his leg and the touch of his soft hands. But he didn’t enjoy it as he should have, not with a million thoughts racing around his head. Knowing that Camillo Garcia might have been killed was quite a shock. What if Garcia’s death had been work related? Would he be next? And what about Camillo’s strange “arrangement” with Mr. Gill? He hoped the police would straighten this mess out quickly and not just for his own sake, for Emilie’s, too. Poor woman looked half-dead herself. Derrick pushed the many questions from his mind and forced his thoughts back to his tasks.
It had been months since he’d done so much riding in one day. At some point, his legs became as limp as cooked pasta. When he saw that Marco had thrown a shoe, he didn’t think about nailing it back on. Not only did his legs need a break, he wasn’t about to do anything to a horse worth a half-million dollars without permission.
Taking a seat on a large tack trunk, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket. He got Peter Winslow’s number from his uncle and made the call he’d promised.
